


The Whole Story

by infiniteeight



Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: There's no name written on Sam's skin. He's never seen a name on John, either, and in the course of their service he'd seen just about every inch of John. But there's more to the story than that, and maybe blank isn't quite the same as unmarked.(The child abuse is an incident which John describes to Sam. It happened when John was sixteen.)





	The Whole Story

Sometimes, Sam wonders if he and John would ever have become as close as they are if they weren’t both blank. 

Not that he’d known that at first, of course. You don’t just _ask_ about soul marks. The name written in your skin is an intensely private thing, usually known only to your parents and your soulmate. Even those who have their marks on commonly exposed parts of the body always, always cover them, and because soul marks are always covered, it’s easy for blanks to pretend they just haven’t found their match yet.

Despite the uncertain conditions of their missions and the general reduction in privacy, even most military personnel manage to keep their marks private. They can’t wear the pretty mark covers, but there’s body tape made specifically for this purpose that is damn near impossible to get off even when you want to remove it. 

However, it turns out that even military-approved body tape can’t hold up against the heat and humidity and crawling through the mud and weeks out of contact that come with serving in Vietnam. Baker Team had all seen each other’s marks by the end of it, or seen enough to know that there is no mark. Sam and John are the only blanks. It’s remarkable that there are two of them, really: blanks only make up about 0.5% of the population.

They don’t ever talk about it, though. They’ve had plenty of conversations that don’t fall within the boundaries of CO and subordinate, but soul marks--or the lack of them--are still private well beyond that boundary.

Despite the silence, Sam thinks there’s an extra level of kinship between them because of it. He’s always been glad of that; somehow, knowing someone else who had to deal with that strange, almost philosophical isolation makes Sam feel less alone.

After Afghanistan, that kinship seems to deepen to a new level. Maybe that’s why, a year later, Sam actually brings it up. He’s finally persuaded John to come visit him in the States, so they’re having a beer in his living room when he ventures the question. Sam is in the easy chair and John is on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, when Sam says, “You ever wonder what it would be like to have a soul mark? To know there’s someone out there for you?”

Of all the replies John could have made, he gives the last one Sam would ever expect: “I have a mark.”

Sam looks over at him. “No, you don’t,” he argues. 

John snorts. “I think I’d know, Sam.”

“First of all, I have seen damn near every inch of you,” Sam says, “so unless the mark is on the underside of your dick, it doesn’t exist. Second, if you _did_ have a mark under your dick, you’d have gone out and found them by now.”

John shakes his head. “I’ve got one. It just isn’t readable.”

Sam frowns. “How could it not be readable?”

John goes quiet. He studies his beer for a long time, then tips his head back and pours the last third of a bottle down his throat all at once. When he’s done, he gets up and goes into the kitchen. Sam silently curses himself for an idiot. You didn’t _talk_ about soul marks. Just because the kinship Sam had felt apparently isn’t real is no reason to pry at an obvious wound.

When John returns with a fresh bottle and another one for Sam, Sam apologizes and adds, “I shouldn’t have asked.” He drops his gaze to his knees, absently fingering his still half-full beer.

“No, it’s fine.” John seats himself and places the extra bottle he brought for Sam on the coffee table. Sam wonders if he’s going to need that much to drink by the time he gets out of this pit he dug himself into. John doesn’t go on until Sam meets his gaze again. “Most times people ask, I just say it’s scarred over. It’s the truth. But this time… I think I’ll tell you the whole story. Kinda surprised myself.”

Warmth chases Sam’s self-recrimination away. “You don’t have to.”

John nods. “I know.” He takes a long drink from his beer and tips his head back against the back of the couch. “My mark came in when I turned sixteen, right down to the minute. I was real excited about it, and so were my parents, so they let me stay up, sitting around in my underpants, until it came in.” His eyes go distant with the memory. “Mom was in front of me, dad behind. Dad was having a smoke, and I was craning my neck all around, afraid I was gonna miss it. I started to feel an itch on my back, and then my father cursed and grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me down on my belly.” Sam feels cold, suddenly certain of what is coming. John’s voice is far too even. “He said, ‘No son of mine,’ and then he ground out his cigarette on my back.”

“John,” Sam murmurs, horrified nausea rising.

“One cigarette wasn’t enough to get the whole mark,” John says. “Even though he re-lit it. He told my mom get him another,” John closes his eyes, “and she went.”

“John,” Sam repeats, but he isn’t done.

“My son of a bitch father is the only person who’s ever seen my mark,” John says bitterly. “I went back to ask him half a dozen times, but the bastard won’t cough up the name, not even after I told him that I knew he’d burned it off because it was a man’s name.” 

“There’s no way to get it back?” Sam asks, though he knows the answer has to be no, or John would have done it.

“No.” He straightens up and sighs, looking resigned now. “I’ve seen a couple experts about it. Apparently, if the scarring had come a long time after the mark, there’d be a chance--but only a very small one--that removing the scar tissue would let the mark come back in. But since it scarred up during formation, there isn’t even that sliver of hope.” John drinks from his beer again. “On top of that, getting the scar as the mark came in means that my soulmate probably has a scar instead of a name, too. Which is a damned shame, because otherwise he might have found me. As it is, it isn’t exactly encouraged to go asking people if they’ve got a long, ugly burn on them somewhere.”

A long ugly burn.

Sam… pauses. “Did I ever tell you about my last mission before I made Major?”

John frowns at the abrupt change of subject. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I was thirty-three at the time,” Sam says. “The mission went to shit and we ended up fighting our way out. I took two bullets. Never went down, but walking around hurt like a bitch. When I finally got to a hospital and got checked out, I had a burn on my hip, too. I didn’t remember getting it, and everything hurt so much that I couldn’t have made any kind of guess. I just figured I hadn’t noticed in all the chaos.”

John is staring at him, beer bottle hanging forgotten from his fingers. “A burn?” he asks, and there’s more fear in his voice than hope.

Sam knows the feeling. What if it’s nothing? The thread of hope he feels is like a fuse: one way or another, igniting it is going to burn. He stands and unbuttons his pants anyway, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop. The mark is low enough on his hip that he has to push down the elastic of his underwear, too, to expose it. 

Slowly, John sits up. He puts his beer down on the coffee table and hitches forward so that he can lean in and peer at the mark. 

It’s a long, thin burn. The right shape to cover a name. The scar tissue thickens into knots periodically. A cigarette, applied repeatedly but unevenly, might make a shape like that. 

John reaches out and lays his hand on Sam’s hip, his thumb sliding across the scar. Sam can’t feel it--there are no nerves there--but as he watches John map out the bumps and dips of the mark, certainty settles in. John is his soulmate. 

If Sam had known that this was remotely possible, he’d have assumed elation would be the overwhelming reaction. Instead, there is a sudden, deep sense of calm. He feels grounded, anchored. Safe. John looks up at him and Sam knows he feels it, too. They don’t need to see John’s scar to be sure, but he stands and pulls off his shirt and turns his back to Sam anyway.

John’s scar curves over his left shoulder blade. The bumps and knots of it are the same. Sam can’t help himself: he raises his hand and gently brushes his fingers over the rough, uneven mark. John doesn’t flinch--Sam’s sure he doesn’t have feeling in it, either--but he knows Sam is touching him because he turns his head, though he doesn’t quite look over his shoulder. 

“I had no idea,” Sam said eventually, laying his hand flat against John’s back so that he could feel it.

“Me neither.” John turns and Sam lifts his hand, only to let it rest on John’s hip once they’re facing each other. John meets his gaze and there’s heartache in his eyes. “Twenty years and I never guessed my soulmate was there the whole time.”

“There’s always been a connection, though,” Sam says. “I thought it was because we were both blank.” He falters. “At least, _I_ felt a connection.”

John brushes his fingers over Sam’s cheek. “I felt it, too,” he assures him. “Didn’t know what to do with it, but it was there.” 

Sam closes his eyes and turns to press his lips to John’s palm. For a moment everything is still and he wonders if he’s gone too far. But then John slides his hand to cup the back of Sam’s neck and tugs; Sam opens his eyes and they both lean in and their lips meet. It’s a slow, careful, quiet kiss; they’ve had more than their share of passion in their lives. Time for something else.

Sam doesn’t know if John’s ever thought about having sex with him. He’s willing to bet not. He’s certainly never thought about John that way--they built a different sort of relationship together. Despite that, they move naturally from long kisses to slowly undressing each other in the bedroom. Platonic soulmates do exist, but there’s no hesitation in their touches, no uncertainty. Maybe that’s the soulmate connection between them; maybe it’s the ability to read each other silently that they developed in combat and never lost. It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re on the same page.

They end up spooned together, their hands clasped over Sam’s heart as John carefully pushes into him. Sam closes his eyes and gasps through the hot, aching stretch of it. John’s touches, from the grip of his hand to the rocking of his hips to the brush of his mouth over Sam’s nape and shoulder, are sweet, not quite reverent but maybe devout. As good as it is, as much as Sam shakes through his climax, the most powerful thing about their coupling is knowing that he is the most important thing in the world to John. Sam’s spent his whole life working to accept the knowledge that no one would ever feel like that about him.

It’s enough to bring tears to his eyes, all his emotions close to the surface and spilling over into the afterglow. Sam rolls over and finds that John is crying, too. They curl around each other and let the tears come, draining an emotional wound that’s finally been lanced.

“John,” Sam finally sighs, when their tears have dried up.

“What’re you thinking?” John says, brushing his thumb gently over Sam’s jawline.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sam admits. This was only supposed to be a visit. John hadn’t had any intention of returning to the States on a permanent basis. “But it doesn’t feel fair to ask you to stay.”

John hums softly. Sam waits while he thinks about it. “I’d be willing to stay,” he says slowly, “if it meant we were together.” Sam starts to reply--of course they’d be together--but John presses his thumb across Sam’s lips. “I mean,” he goes on, “I don’t want to be a nice sideline to your career. I don’t want to be stuck here, waiting for you, while you’re running a mission. I don’t need to spend every second of every day with you, but I can’t stay if I’m going to come second to the Army.”

If he’d thought for more than ten seconds about it, Sam would have expected that. “That’s fair,” he says. John looks surprised, and Sam offers a wry smile. “I don’t exactly know what I’d do with myself without the Army, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I could--” retire, he’s only three years away from mandatory, but he’s not sure he’s quite ready for that, “--take a leave of absence. See if we can make it work.”

John smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

Sam can tell that John is confident their trial run will work out. But then, John has always known that his soulmate was out there, even if he never thought he’d actually find them. When John heard people talking about their soulmates, about how they were made just for each other, about how they’d fit together, fill in something missing in each other’s lives… Well, John had known that all of that was true for him, too. 

Sam can’t be so sure. No one ever told him those things. But for John, he’s willing to make a leap of faith. So he leans in and kisses John gently and smiles when John starts making plans for the move.

Seeing him so happy, planning for the future instead of living day by day, it gets a little easier for Sam to believe that maybe everything people say about soulmates can be true for him, too. 

~End~


End file.
